


Is and Isn't

by starrylitme



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Identities, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinations, Identity Issues, Kissing, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Nightmares, Other, Psychological Trauma, Self-Reflection, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:11:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylitme/pseuds/starrylitme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sometimes I think about that. About how much I shouldn’t be here. I’m not supposed to <em>be </em>here. Especially when I <em>lost myself</em> in despair. Especially after I set up my murder in the simulation. Whoever stands before you—<em>talking like this</em>—they really, really shouldn’t <strong><em>be</em></strong> here... But, that person who is but isn’t me... They shouldn’t exist either. That simulation was supposed to wipe him out. And when I died again, we should have both just disappeared. But, <em>no</em>, here <em>we</em> are in a body that doesn’t <em>feel </em>like my own—but that I <strong><em>know</em></strong> is mine.”</p>
<p>(They're both in rather peculiar positions and it's difficult to not break a mirror or two over it. At least they can talk about it. Somewhat, since there are still some things Hinata-kun can't know.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is and Isn't

**Author's Note:**

> So the prompt on Tumblr was "nightmares; bad dreams; hallucinations" and because I was still in a SerKoma mood, it became this thing. With added HinaKoma Hurt/Comfort because that's also my thing. It's significantly different from Mirror's Persistence and not as heavy on the symbolism but it's still rather...peculiar. Includes references to a thing I'm actually unfamiliar with but found to apply here somewhat.
> 
> I want to go a bit further with this kind of setup but that might...go a little too far considering how I can be at times... Ehehe.

“Oh, fuck, _Komaeda_.”

Komaeda doesn’t even flinch as Hinata grimaces at the sight before him. Scattered all across the floor are the shards from the shattered, utterly ruined mirror attached to the wall, several shimmering malevolently in the low light, many stained with crimson. Like the dripping crimson from Komaeda’s hand, clenched and trembling as Komaeda just sits otherwise blankly in the middle of the mess. Hinata can almost see the pieces of glass lodged into his knuckles, and he winces—even more so when he realized that there are also cuts scattered across Komaeda’s arm, even his feet, likely unintentional. There’s even a slick red line over the curve of his cheek, and Hinata just sighs, flickering on the light.

“Aw, jeez,” he’s careful to step around what shards he can, but he already pictures them digging into those fine shoes the Future Foundation got him. He quickly brushes the thought away, coming close enough that he can offer his hand to mostly still Komaeda if not for his quivering, bloodied hand. “Come on, Komaeda, let’s get the glass out.”

“Tsumiki-san’s unavailable?” Komaeda asks, softly and nonchalantly. Though Hinata’s lips twist as he responds all the same.

“She’s still recovering from the mental breakdown she had the other day, Komaeda. You were _there_ when she did.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.” He spoke lightly, insincerely. But rather than get irritated, Hinata just shook his head and moved to—rather than just _help_ the other up—instead scoop Komaeda into his arms, raising him from the ground easily and swiftly. Komaeda does startle a bit, blinking wide doe eyes at him before relaxing and slumping into his arms like a sleeping infant. “Hey, Hinata-kun...?”

“Shush,” Hinata mutters, just as quickly, and Komaeda did. Saying nothing about how Komaeda just let his bleeding hand dangle, dripping blood onto the floor even still, Hinata just started walking, trying not to focus on each drip the followed until he found a room to treat those injuries.

* * *

Komaeda remains unresponsive even as Hinata takes great care to pluck out all the glass, to clean out every cut and gash, and wraps it all away behind bandages like they do for those hideous scars still on the edge of Komaeda’s wrist where a left hand used to be. He’s sure to be as thorough as possible, with the kind of keenness that could only ever belong to _that_ person , but any dull thoughts he has towards Komaeda are quickly pushed to the wayside, even after he’s finished.

“Komaeda,” he says, and Komaeda still doesn’t respond. He’s finally gone completely still, his bandaged hand a lump of meat in his lap, his head down with eyes still downcast and empty. There are shadows underneath his eyes—dark enough to be bruises, and Hinata swallows at the pitifulness of it all.

Komaeda is far too cold when he pulls him into an embrace, too much like one of those _(beautiful)_ porcelain dolls left behind in the attic, chilled and so very fragile still. But there is a pulse under his fingertips when they trail down the nape of Komaeda’s neck, down a knobby spine to rest on his back. Komaeda’s hair is still soft under his chin and against his lips, and the strands still smell freshly cleaned from the bath he had not too long ago yesterday.

“Komaeda,” he starts, and so gently as though he were afraid the very words could make the doll in his arms crack. “Did you have a nightmare?”

He’s almost scared of the silence that he expects to follow, to drag on for who knows how long afterwards, but instead, Komaeda mercifully nods, and leans into his hold, arms wrapping around him in return.

“I just meant to get water when it woke me up, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda mournfully sighed. “I just _wanted_ to get _water_.”

“It’s okay,” Hinata answers, easily as he strokes Komaeda’s hair, holding him closer, in a way he hopes is more secure and safe. “It’s okay, Komaeda. I’m not angry. Not even a little. Not at all.”

“I know you’re not.” Komaeda laughs, but not quite. His voice cracks and falls apart before he can even get the chuckle completely out. And then, he hums, burying his face into his chest, and against a pounding heart, he asks, “Do you want me to tell you about it?”

“Please.” And he shouldn’t be the one begging for this. It’s seriously kind of messed up. Like Komaeda’s doing him a favor. But with how things are, Hinata should consider this progress. Especially since when Komaeda giggles, it’s an actually successful attempt.

* * *

He gets Komaeda water first. Komaeda’s lips don’t even have to be wet before he starts talking.

“It might have actually been a memory—I’m really not sure—I actually don’t really want to be either. It wasn’t that girl this time. Not...at first...” Komaeda swallows his first gulp and clears his throat. “It was Tsumiki-san, actually.”

“Oh,” Hinata does croak a bit. Komaeda looks at him for a bit, rather coldly but also blankly before clarifying, as though reading his mind.

“She wasn’t screaming like yesterday. Tsumiki-san actually rarely got angry enough to scream, at least around me.”

Hinata nods at that, and then he thinks, for a treacherous moment, about that time in the simulation prior to her execution—how Komaeda talked to her and how she spoke back, saying something that made Komaeda fall silent and look surprisingly stricken. Back then, he wondered if he imagined seeing that because it had been quick and Komaeda hardened his frown once the execution started.

“At least,” Komaeda says, light as he leans into his palm with a sigh, having placed the cup aside, unfinished. “I think it was Tsumiki-san. Honestly that part of the dream was a blur—if it was a memory, then... Perhaps I was drugged around that time? The voice that swam in and out sounded like Tsumiki-san. And if it was Tsumiki-san...”

He trails off, goes silent for a moment, and then... “That girl was there. She was. But for once, I don’t remember her clearly. What did she do while I was in that state, I wondered—the thought made me feel like throwing up...and that’s why when I woke up, I decided to get water.”

Hinata nods, but then he thinks—the thought strikes him rather harshly that, _if it wasn’t the nightmare then...?_

It occurs to him that Komaeda’s gaze may be directed at him, but his eyes are focused firmly above his eyes. On his forehead. Where his bangs barely hide the scars.

“I was fine,” Komaeda says, matter-of-fact and firm. “Until I really looked at my reflection.”

And there’s only so very little else _Hinata-kun_ could be privy to after that.

“I was looking at someone,” he continues, slowly, deliberately, with his nails starting to dig into his cheek, “who was and wasn’t myself.”

Hinata mustn’t know, he thought, about how that other him—who wasn’t himself—smiled. He always had a worthless smile, but it looked vapid on _that_ person.

Even though it should have been a lover’s smile because those eyes that looked at him certainly were. Like _her_ eyes. Her stare disgusted him more than even her touch. _But in this case..._

When that person reached for him—it hadn’t been how it was with her. He hadn’t been coldly resigned and detached immediately, when shutting down was usually— _always_ —his initial reaction to such things. When she cooed at him, he rolled his eyes, but when that person who was and wasn’t himself crooned, sweetly, _unassumingly_...

“Before I knew it,” Komaeda found himself whispering, raking his fingers through his hair and disgusting himself with how long the strands were—how that sickening white went to his very roots, with some strands getting stuck between his fingers from the motions. “I was...”

Every part of him on instinct said to scream. He didn’t scream. It was like his voice didn’t work, not when that other was so sweetly whispering to him, humming, low and adoring. Stroking the words the same way those fingers stroked his cheek, a mitten-clad hand cupping his face as those digits ran over his lips.

Despite that instinct, he was so utterly fixated on that other person, fascinated, even, the way animals often were when encountering their reflection. Everything drew his eye from the same white stringy hair, the pallid grays of the other’s eyes, an unfamiliar yet familiar back jacket, striped shirt, those glimpses of the mitten that went with the attire—that insipid, _insufferable_ smile—

He hadn’t reacted to being kissed at first, his lips manipulated by others that were and were not his own, but he knows he tasted himself on the other’s tongue. He knows he also tasted _filth_.

Before he knew it, he felt those hands, roaming all _over_ him. They could have been hers. Maybe even his own. But not. All he knew was that they _hurt_ , like everything touched decayed like a trail of rot. Like his body was disintegrating bit by bit even as he never felt less alert, less conscious of what _exactly_ was going on. So alert that he couldn’t force a shut down. Like it was impossible to not be utterly _awake_.

And yet he still lost himself, didn’t he? Lost himself...in himself...but not himself... What a mess. What a _mess_... He didn’t even regain himself until he heard Hinata’s voice.

_Hinata-kun._

Hinata was still looking at him expectantly, worriedly. But what he’s looking for is that insufferable _pity_ —almost furiously searching crimson eyes that should be cold, should be detached, not so... Caring. Concerned. Patient and not pushing.

Komaeda slumps so that Hinata moves to support him. He does, with warm, worn hands on his slim, thin shoulders. And Komaeda sighs.

“Do you...dream about being Kamukura-kun? Are you _ever_ Kamukura-kun anymore if even for but a moment?”

Hinata does flinch for _just_ a moment. And he thinks about it.

“Sometimes... When I look into the mirror, I do see him.” And it wasn’t uncommon he often broke those mirrors like Komaeda had. That he’d end up with bloodied fists and shards of both the mirror and his mistakes lodged in them with a merciless sting. Those first few months as Naegi spoke to him— _as he tried so hard not think about Komaeda at the time, in Naegi’s gentle words and comforting smile_ —were rougher than he could have handled if not for Nanami’s face graciously imprinted in the back of his mind. He was still having difficulty accepting it, accepting Kamukura even now. But it’s not like Kamukura expected any different. “I know he’s still there no matter what I do. He probably finds my worrying about him pointless because the situation can’t be helped. Or something. But I...try not to let that shake me so much anymore.”

Komaeda blinks at him, and innocently asks. “How intimate are you with Kamukura-kun?”

_I...what?_

“How deeply is Kamukura-kun embedded in you?” Sharper, that soft voice raising in tone and fervor. “Isn’t it more personally _involved_ that one could ever _imagine_? Perhaps even experience _themselves_? Hey, Hinata-kun, tell me—exactly _how_ much of you is _you_ , and how much is Kamukura _Izuru_?”

“I... I don’t know.” Hinata admits, tense and tight. “I don’t... Komaeda, I...”

“What a boring response.” Komaeda sighs heavily and with a swing of his legs, he stood on those bandaged feet, betrayed by a quick wobble before steadying himself, brushing Hinata’s supportive hands off. “You’re so boring, Hinata-kun. Kamukura-kun is quite unfortunate for being forced to constantly deal with that. But it can’t be _helped_ , can it? But, you know...”

He wipes at his face with his hand, against the bandages before once again reaching for the water he never finished. Faltering before his fingertips brushed against the cold cup, muttering, in a low, low voice, “Given how bland Hinata-kun is—you were probably too cautious to be curious. And Kamukura-kun can hardly bring himself to _care_ that much about anything. So nothing’s really _happened_ between you two, right? A connection that deep—and Kamukura-kun’s content to not bother with it while Hinata-kun’s too scared to do _anything_. How boring you _both_ are.”

Hinata couldn’t respond. Kamukura wouldn’t, either.

“Well, it is a rather unusual situation...since Hinata-kun shouldn’t even exist anymore...” Komaeda traces the rim of the cup, humming before finally wrapping his hand around it, and turning back to the other with the brightest of smiles. “But I shouldn’t be the one to talk since I’m the _same_! None of us should really _be_ here in the states we’re currently in. So I guess it’s not _that_ unusual. But it’s still not...normal, is it?”

_Of course not._

“Sometimes I think about that. About how much I shouldn’t be here, but... You know, Hinata-kun...” His mouth felt dry even after he downed the water, laughing wetly, wiping at his eyes and placing the now empty cup aside. “I... _He_...? That other me who _isn’t_ — ** _that person_** couldn’t be happier with this change of events. I’m not supposed to _be_ here. Especially when I _lost myself_ in despair. Especially after I set up my murder in the simulation. Whoever stands before you— _talking like this_ —they really, really shouldn’t **_be_** here... But... That person...who is but isn’t me... They shouldn’t exist either. That simulation was supposed to wipe him out. And when I died again, we should have both just disappeared. But _no_. Here _we_ are in a body that doesn’t _feel_ like my own—but that I **_know_** is mine. Isn’t that...”

He choked on the sound. Hinata perked up, moved towards him, saying his name—and he proceeded to drown Hinata’s voice out with the sound of ugly, scratchy laughter.

“Isn’t that **_funny_**?!”

He can’t stop laughing, manically, bitterly hysterical as he swayed and stumbled on his injured feet, only barely managing to stop himself from toppling over for a short while. With how bad the laughter was making him shake, with how with each giggle there was also pain—striking white-hot through his very being that could have been paralyzing. That he managed to stand for at least a while was impressive—but he didn’t even register the point he slipped, when everything came crashing down.

He wouldn’t have registered the impact in that state, so it took a while for him to notice, for him to focus his blurring sight on Hinata again, looming over him, crimson eyes bright. And wide. And stricken. And Komaeda finally registered hands again—Hinata’s hands, holding him in his arms, practically in his lap—and Hinata’s heart was pounding hard against his ear from where he was held close to the other’s chest.

“Ah...haha... Hehe... _Hii_... Hinata-kun...” Coughing on each giggle, Komaeda finally breathed, finally sighed and leaned into his hold with a smile that felt painted on. “Hinata-kun... Don’t you think so too? That it’s funny? Isn’t it _hysterical_?”

“No,” Hinata answered, short and stiff. “No, I don’t think so at all.”

“Of course not,” Komaeda practically groans, even as he chuckles a bit more with a roll of his eyes. “You really are boring.”

Hinata’s frown deepens, and wordlessly he holds the other closer like he had not so long ago before, taking deep, shaking breaths. His embrace was trembling but tight—almost like he worried about Komaeda just disappearing or something. Maybe?

“What does Kamukura-kun think about this, Hinata-kun?” he asks, light and almost casually. “Does he not care? I... That other me...doesn’t really care either... I think... Because when I was in despair...”

Hinata’s arms tightened around him. So he stopped.

“...Hmm.” A hum. “You’re warm.”

_I’ve never been warm alone. Alone? I’m by myself—but that isn’t me...not...really?_

Hinata was still taking those unsteady breaths, muttering indiscernible nonsense into his hair that would’ve crumbled either way if given shape. As off-putting as he’s being, Hinata is still _here_. Solid. Holding him.

_He doesn’t smell of blood or decay like..._

And Komaeda shut his eyes tight, burying his face against that still racing heartbeat. Despite how tightly he was being held, it didn’t hurt at all. Somewhere in his mind, he wondered what kissing him would be like. How’d he taste compared to _himself_.

It’s the kind of thing he’d like to dream about, actually.


End file.
